09-18-10 Porcelain Paradise

Porcelain Paradise

            Something clogs the fan and wakes me up. I stare at the lit hall while I search for the strength to move my legs from under my warm covers. My sister snores in the bed next to me; at the foot of my bed, I find a mass of stuffed animals that she threw during the night. My feet swing over the edge and I sit for a second staring in disbelief as my clock displays “6:20 AM.”

            “Honestly?” I mutter to myself, “Ten minutes before I’m supposed to actually wake up?”

            I walk down the long hall and turn to the white door on my right. I knock twice. No one is there. I walk in and enjoy the peace and tranquility my bathroom can give me. I look around and think to myself that this might be my favorite place in the world. When living in a small house, solidarity is hard to come by. I share a room with a twelve year old and two psychotic cats, my kitchen is connected with the living room so privacy is limited, and one too many incidents with an antique vase made it so I am banned from my parent’s room. My bathroom is always accessible, clean, and private.

            I do believe, however, that there is a difference between bathrooms and restrooms. In a bathroom, I have a precise idea what is in it, and what has passed by. I know that the makeup tray will always be by the sink, that the toothbrushes are always on the sink’s right side, and that the toothpaste is in the cabinet. When I am injured there is always medicine available in the last place I saw them, and the band-aids are on the shelf above the toilet. A restroom is the equivalent to a foreign land. I never knew who was in the stall before me, who “Jenny” is and why she loves “Jason,” if the soap will be gel or that foamy stuff, and whether or not the hand dryer will work this time. Restrooms are public, there is always someone in the stall next to me, or they steal some soap from my dispenser because theirs is empty. Then there is that woman who is always on the phone the entire time she is doing her business. In a bathroom, this is not an issue.

            Then, there is a knock at the door.

            “Who is it?” I reply and I understand my time here is up.

            “Dad”

            I get up wash my hands, and leave my sanctuary. As I figure out my outfit, I continue to ponder my epiphany. I have lived in New York, I have swam with dolphins in California, and I have hiked up steep cliffs to see Native American ruins and yet I still find the bathroom my favorite place in the world. I love those other places but they are not as accessible as my bathroom. For the past seventeen years, my bathroom has always been in the same place, and, aside from a few cosmetic changes, has not changed. I slip on some old jeans.

            The safety and security my bathroom provides is one thing and the privacy is another, but there is a strange connection between a person and their own bathroom. Every individual plans each detail whether it is towel color or the lavender soap in the dish, each is an important reflection of the individual’s taste. Moreover, the bathroom is the most redecorated room in the house. I remember when I was younger we had a fish themed shower curtain. It was blue, yellow, and red with happy fish swimming around and sailboats floating above their heads. As my sister and I grew older, the shower curtain was replaced with a more mature plastic blue one. The instant the shower curtain was traded the room seemed new again. I grab my new cardigan and walk out of my beadroom.

            The bathroom was free again. I grab my contact lens case and a few essential makeup products from the makeup tray. I forgot to close the door and, like clockwork, my mom’s head pops into the room.

            “Hi sweetie, I need to do makeup too. Can you share the bathroom for five minutes?” She laughs and I roll my eyes. I may be a teenager but I understand how to share space.  I nod and she walks in. We stand at the small sink for fifteen minutes talking and fighting for space, joking how we should have two bathrooms. Then it dons on me. The privacy is nice when I need it but with a small bathroom, like mine, the need to get along with those I live with becomes essential to life. My mom and I created a morning system; she gets eye shadow while I apply eyeliner close to the mirror, and when I go to get my mascara she uses the mirror.  It is bathroom coexistence, where two organisms will share the same space at the same time while providing a respectful distance.  I hear my dad down in the kitchen calling me for breakfast.

            I wonder if this could be the meaning to life. As if the world is a great metaphor for a bathroom. That in order to solve our world’s problems, humanity needs to look at what a small bathroom can offer the world. A bathroom offers peace, efficiency, patience, security, cleanliness, privacy, and a symbiotic relationship in a small space. So yes, bathrooms are cool. They bring so much more than expected. It may not be Central Park, Disney World, Cancun, or rolling Irish hills, but it is home. It is where I dyed my hair bright red without telling my parents and then where I had to wash it out the next morning before school. It is where my mom showed me how to apply eyeliner for the very first time, and how I will show my sister later this year. It is where I finished the Harry Potter Series, and where I took hot showers the week I had strep.

            I finish my breakfast and put my shoes on. I find my backpack and purse from under my jackets. I am ready to go to school. Right after one last visit to the bathroom. 

9-10-2010 "A Dark Day in Disneyworld"

"A Dark Day in Disneyworld"

            I watched in horror as hundreds of four-year-old girls just like me came out of the dark abyss, sobbing, with terrified looks plastered on their young faces. I was exhausted after my long journey here and I longed for the nice comfort of my hotel room bed; yet, my parents pressured me into coming here, to this cavern. At my first glimpse of the dark door, my mind was flooded with questions. How could I possibly be convinced to walk into the unknown? Why in a place of happiness were there shrines of such beasts? Why in the world did my parents want me to enter into such a terrifying dwelling?

            After a long fight with my parents, I gave in. I reached above my head and opened the great doors. A cool sweep of air hit my face almost immediately. I looked back once more, sure, that this was the last time I would ever see sunlight again. I took my first step inside the darkness, clutching to my mother's legs. I felt my eyes swell twice their size, and my jaw seized. There I was staring face to face with a tribe of lions. “Go on sweetie,” my mother said, “it’s ok I’m right here.”

            Realistically, she had nowhere to go, I now had a half nelson on her kneecap. We walked together my father close behind with that silly grin on his face. "Why is he smiling?" I wondered. Here we were surrounded by creatures that could at any time eat our faces off, and my dad was there smiling. It was illogical. We continued on, the lions moved gradually, never making a sudden move and neither did I.           

            As we walked, I saw before my eyes a lion transform from a small cub to a massive beast with rambling songs playing in the background. “Hakuna Matata,” a small rodent said to his audience. I never understood this; they repeated it over and over again as if these strange words were to mean something. My parents laughed and started to shake my arms in the air. My eyes grew bigger, "What is this?", I thought, "We can’t dance! No sudden movements the big lion is eyeing me". I quickly drew my arms into my pockets, and in the midst of all of the confusion, I grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt and drew it over my head. "Maybe if I can’t see them they’ll go away", but the idea came to a quick end when suddenly a ferocious lion came and attacked the others.

            This lion had a history of violence, before we saw him drop another off a cliff. The small lion cried as he saw the beast fall flat to the ground in a paralyzed slump. I should have left then, now this lion with the grotesque scar lining his face was murdering his own kin. Lightning stuck a branch behind them and flames engulfed the two fighting lions. I saw the flames as my cue to make my escape. I pulled my mom’s pant hem desperately trying to make her look down in my direction. "Look at me mom! This place is going to burn to the ground we need to leave!" What I received in reply was a good shushing and a hopeless wave.  Next, I tried Dad I did everything. I pointed, screamed, and even did the potty pose.

            “Shana,” my dad said turning to my mom, “She has to pee.”

            “She can make it five more minutes I can see the end.”

            I looked forward, a bright rectangle revealed an exit. I bolted. Making my way through the other helpless families, leaving my own behind I ran towards the door.

            “Alex! Alex! Come here sweetie, it’s fine! Alex! Come back!”

            I kept my pace, running, until I finally reached the portal. I stepped back into the light, adjusting my eyes to the brightness. I was shocked to see that in front of me was another lion. I turned left and there they were, to the right were hundreds of them. I was surrounded. “Gottcha,” I felt a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I screamed and ran out of the lair, out into sunlight.

            Then, I realized this place was truly disturbed. Coming straight towards me was the mouse in a suit, and a tall lanky creature that looked like a dog. However, none was more terrifying than the duck. It had no pants. They grabbed me; their smiles caked onto their caricatured faces. I heard giggles as the flashes of 1990s disposable cameras went off around me. I tried desperately to squirm out of their grip, but the mouse’s gloved hands were like cuffs. "Now I know how my mom’s leg feels like."

            I gave up. I thought of what I knew about the world in my four years of existence: the smell of spring flowers, rain, and hamburgers, the mysterious worlds in books, how rainbows seem to make a cloudy depressing day better, and the nonsense lullabies my mom sung to me after a nightmare. I expected to never sense those beautiful things now that I have become a captive of the Giant Animal Gang.

            Then a smiling woman came from the crowd. She lifted me into her arms and held me close. “Thanks, Mickey.” She said. I didn’t look up as she carried me off in her arms. "Is she the one who takes the cute little girls into their fortress and put them in cages? Should I expect to be their slave forever or is this just a temporary agreement?"

            “You scared us there, Alex,” said the woman in a familiar voice. “don’t do that ever again. Good thing you went to Mickey.” She was tired I could tell.

            She put me down for a second and walked me over with her to one of the ice cream venders. She ordered three “Mickey Pops” and then set me down on a bench. My parents and I sat there for an hour eating our ice cream as I contemplated my revenge on the giant animals, and I knew that eventually I would get it. 

FIRST POST!!!

Hey this is my first post of the year! Hopefully I will continue to write on this blog (although I highly doubt  I will) and you will continue to criticize my writing and weird crazy posts I do at 12:00 on Wednesday nights. Remember you can give me feedback on ANYTHING I write here. So, with this post, if you think my parenthetical phrase was a little too much tell me, and I'll choose to ignore you or not. Any who this is going to be cool!